Holiday Shopping

One of these days, I'm going to compile a list of "almost gifts" - things I either bought or almost bought with the intention that "Santa" will give them as gifts - that is, before being foiled at the last minute when my constant companion catches me in the act.

I am, of course, talking about Sam. It's rare that I ever leave the house without Sam at my side. This is in no way a complaint - far from it - but, boy, when it comes to playing "Santa" and doing a little Christmas shopping, it can be a challenge.

For better or worse, most of my shopping is done online so other than an onslaught of mysterious boxes coincidentally showing up on our doorstep just before the holiday every year, this can be done almost under the radar. Almost, that is, except for the times when I'm sitting at the computer, seemingly alone, when all of a sudden I get the "Say, what are you looking at?" or the "That's pretty cool," coming unexpectedly from somewhere over my shoulder.

But every so often, when we're out and about, I come across something that I think would make a good gift for someone, but my plan falls through once I'm eventually spotted by Sam. Sometimes this happens at the point of purchase (the worst), sometimes it happens just before the point of purchase (almost the worst).

The latest example, a Life Magazine "Special Edition" on Mr. Rogers, currently sits on the dining room table for all to see - instead of in a bag filled with stocking stuffers, for no one to see - until Christmas morning.

The last couple of times we were standing in line at the grocery store, I noticed Sam taking an interest in this magazine, but until yesterday, I couldn't find the opportunity to somehow slip it in, unnoticed, and hide it among the usual crowd of our grocery items.

But yesterday, we were at the grocery store (again), and while standing in the check-out line, it seemed that Sam was more preoccupied than usual, looking for spare change on the floor (and finding a cool seventeen cents, by the way). So while he was intently scouring the floor, I quickly slipped the magazine off the rack and slid it face down on the belt, under our small pile of groceries.

I kept one eye on Sam as he scouted for lost change, and one eye on the magazine, watching as it slowly inched closer to the scanner. It looked as though it might be a close call - but I was pretty sure that success was at hand.

One-by-one the girl scanned our items. One-by-one Sam spotted another coin. One-by-one our items, including the magazine, slid closer to the finish line.

Finally, with Sam still intent on finding treasure, the magazine reaches the cashier. Almost there... almost there. The cashier scans it - and for some god-unknown reason, she for once decides to be helpful, so she holds up the magazine says, "You want a separate bag for this?" Sam whips around, "Oh! You're getting that???!!!"

This is one of those moments in life where a person's creative lying is put to the test. Do I pretend that the magazine must have somehow fallen off the magazine rack, right into our pile of groceries? Do I draw upon my seldom used acting skills and ask the person behind me if this unwanted item really belonged to them - and by they way, please do a better job of keeping your items away from my items? Do I just deny it and leave this entire awkward incident behind me - and then come back and try again later?

No, I do none of those things. Like too many times before, I fold and tell the truth. I tell Sam simply, "Yes, we're getting it." (I'm not sure if the check-out girl picked up on my glare or not. I may have to go back there and glare at her again.) Flash forward to Sam and I walking back to the car, me with groceries in hand, Sam carrying the magazine.

Now, the magazine sits on the table behind me, for all to enjoy, in these chilly pre-Christmas days.

This kind of thing has happened a lot this shopping season - the spice store, the local book store, the Farmer's Market, the local game store - you name it. Each of these shopping endeavors have resulted in Santa having to somehow come up with a "Plan B".

Of course, all of this would be a little easier if I could just figure out if Sam still believed in Santa or not. But that's not a can of worms that I'm willing to open right now. And for now at least, neither, apparently, is Sam.